


Input

by BleuWaters



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Thoughtful Tony, Who Knows?, fancy party, just a happy little one-shot, not here, where's pepper?, yada yada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 23:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleuWaters/pseuds/BleuWaters
Summary: Tony Stark x reader one-shot. Reader works for Tony. He's throwing a party and needs a suggestion, and after the suggestion, he invites her to come with. (What an awful summary, am I right?)





	Input

You’ve been Happy’s assistant for a just over six months. It's an okay job. He yells a lot, but never really means it. He's threatened to fire you at least a dozen times, but he's easily worked up, and almost always stressed, so it has always worked out all right.

Heck, the big boss man likes you - like, really likes you, so you must do your job well.

The job is similar to that of a first mate. Relaying the orders and enforcing them, and provide general assistance, advice, and support.

It's fun.

One day, the big boss man comes into his actual business and raises his brow when he sees you.

“(F/n). Walk with me,” he says, motioning at you. You tuck your tablet under your arm and do as he says.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Stark?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“I need input,” he says.

“Okay.”

“If you could pick any charity, for anything, what would it be?”

“Ooh, good question.” You're quiet for a moment, thinking. “Samaritan’s Purse.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Well, they do a lot of disaster relief work, and they have a branch called Operation Christmas Child, which sends shoebox presents to kids around the world that really need it. Toys, school supplies, basic hygiene items. That sort of thing.”

“Sounds like a good cause.” Tony shrugs.

“It is, sir”

“I'm throwing a party tonight. You're invited as my plus-one,” he says, giving you a nod from behind his purple-tinted glasses, “And you might wanna dress up. Kind of a black tie event.”

“Oh. Yes, sir; absolutely.”

“‘Kay. And you'll be paid. As you were, soldier.”

“I'm just an assistant.”

“You work for Happy; it applies.”

You grin and watch him for a moment as he walks away.

Black tie, huh?

You have just the dress.

 

~o0o~

 

In fact, you've been waiting for a party like this since you started working for Stark Enterprises.

You slide a ruby red lipstick onto your lips, a tube that cost two hours to buy. A satiny, shimmering rose-gold eyeshadow graces your lids, and a thin, but solid black swoop of liner opens your lovely eyes, and your lashes lay in beautifully painted strands against that makeup.

You spritz on an expensive perfume, apply one last cloud of hairspray to your hair, and grab your clutch.

Time to go.

Happy is waiting outside your apartment building for you, and his jaw drops when you step outside.

“Holy cow,” he splutters, staring as you walk down to him, tall heels clacking against the cracked sidewalk, “Are you sure you're my assistant?”

“Pretty sure,” you scoff, smiling despite yourself, “You're sure you're my drill sarge?”

“Huh?”

“Mr. Stark said that working for you is like being in the military. A truly amazing compliment, sir,” you say, patting Happy’s shoulder, then nodding toward the car, “Gonna let me in?”

“Yeah, sorry- yeah…” He turns and pulls the handle, which sets of a frantic alarm. The noise proves to fluster him further, and he scrambles with his key fob, dropping it onto the curb.

You laugh and pick it up, clicking the alarm off before handing them back.

“I _am_ still your assistant, sir,” you say, “You can treat me the same. Heck, I'm on the clock; whatever you say, goes.”

“You're on...y-you're directly on Mr. Stark’s clock,” he says, clearing his throat and smoothly opening the car door for you, “As am I. So, for tonight, we're equals.”

“Don't let me get too used to it,” you joke, stepping into the vehicle, but, really, it's a ridiculously delightful prospect.

The drive to the party is fairly quiet. You comment on how nice Happy’s tux is, and he flushes, laughing nervously now that the compliment is from an assistant looking less like a twenty dollar fandom hoodie and more like Tony Stark’s date.

Cameras flash when Happy lets you out of the car and you give a beaming smile, well-trained in how to act around the press and paparazzi.

“Miss (l/n), you're just the assistant to Mr. Stark's security guard. How do you feel to have this opportunity?”

“I'm not an assistant to a security guard,” you say, turning briefly to pat Happy on the arm, “I'm the assistant to the head of security for Iron Man. And how do I feel?” You grin. “I feel like a million bucks.”

You answer no more questions, instead allowing Happy to hustle you inside. Once there, you take a breath. It’s well-lit and everything seems to glisten. The walls are polished, brass banisters to a staircase that seemingly leads nowhere shined until you can see yourself in them. A massive chandelier hangs from the ceiling, hundreds of fine crystals spraying an array of dancing light every which way.

You scan the crowd for Tony, and smile when you see him. He's busy talking to someone, but that someone pauses to stare at you.

And really, what's not to stare at?

Your dress is a downpour of glittering gold, a mermaid cut that trails behind you. Your hair is piled high on your head, your makeup is absolutely flawless, and your shoes, though tall, don't hurt.

“You look...amazing,” says Tony, offering you his hand, which you take delicately, “I like the gold.”

“Good,” you say, swiftly losing your composure. Compliments from a handsome, wonderful man are enough to mess you up as it is, but in heels and a snug dress, and the grand possibility of an unflattering fall, you struggle to maintain your cool. “So...um...What's this party for, exactly?”

“It's a charity thing. Not a dinner because I'm not feeding anyone, and not a dance because...it's just not. You want something to drink?”

You blink, then hesitantly nod.

“Is a non-alcoholic wine good with you? ‘Cause I'm cutting back. Health and whatever.”

“Yeah, that's fine,” you say, nodding more confidently, “I don't drink.”

“Gotcha.” He lifts his hand and a waiter comes over. “Two glasses of Ariel Brut Cuvée.”

“So, Mr. Stark…”

“Come on, really? The whole ‘Mr. Stark’ thing? The only people that call me that are the people that work for me.”

You laugh. “I _do_ work for you,” you remind him, and he shrugs.

“Whatever. It's just that ‘Tony' works better for me.”

“Okay. Sure. _Tony_ , why me?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, nodding at the waiter when he returns with the drinks. He hands you yours, a pale yellow bubbly swishing elegantly in a crystal flute.

“You know exactly what I mean,” you say, “I'm...no one, compared to your friends. Why would you ask me out?”

“Because why not?” Tony answers, “You're cute. Smart. Trustworthy. And maybe the people around me aren't actually my friends.” He downs his drink, a little annoyed that there isn't any alcohol in it.

“I see,” you nod, lifting the glass to your lips, “Sorry.”

Tony shrugs.

“This, um...charity thing. Is it the charity you asked me about?”

“Yup,” he says, “And speaking of, I think I'll get the speaking part over with. Come on, let's go.”

“Wait, what?”

“You're my date and my inspiration; you're coming with me.”

He takes your drink from you and sets both flutes, one empty, one barely touched, onto the closest waiter’s tray. Then he takes you by the hand and pulls you toward the short stage.

After tapping the microphone, he shoots a quick grin to his audience. He puts his arm around your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip.

“As you all know, I'm not one for mushy-gushy speeches, so I'll keep this short,” he says, stirring a couple chuckles up from the crowd, “Tonight, I'm donating one hundred thousand dollars to the Operation Christmas Child branch of Samaritan's Purse, and this lovely young lady beside me is the reason why. Pull out your checkbooks, donate some zeros, help an awesome cause, and enjoy yourselves.”

Truly short-but-sweet.

You choke a little when you hear the amount he's giving. Once you're off the stage, you question him about it.

“One hundred thousand?” you squeak. That's twice what you make in a year.

“Not enough?” Tony winces. “I'll tell them I'll double it.”

“No, no, that's not it!” you exclaim. A hundred thousand is amazing. Beyond amazing. Ridiculous! “I just can't believe you would be so generous for something I only just told you about.”

“I know what I'm doing,” he says defensively, “I did my homework and it really is an awesome cause. I honestly support it.”

And there it was.

That very moment, that split second in time…

You fall for Tony Stark. It isn't some petty crush or a mild admiration of him for his generosity.

It's a true, honest, numbing, then electrifying love.

 

~o0o~

 

Tony drives you home from the party, telling Happy to head home himself.

The drive contains idle chit-chat made awkward by your gratitude and newfound interest in the man. Not only does he walk you to the door of the apartment building, he walks you up the two flights to your home.

“Not a bad party,” he muses, “And I can't remember the last time I saw a more unbelievably gorgeous woman. Seriously, every man stared and every woman was jealous.”

You blush swiftly at the words, flattered and embarrassed and very pleased by them.

“Thank you,” you say, finding it rather difficult to hold Tony’s gaze.

He notices when you glance away, and he touches beneath your chin, snapping your (e/c) eyes right back to his.

You freeze, your hands going numb, when he places a soft kiss to your mouth. It's delicate, more like a question than a statement, but solid, his lips closed around yours.

He smiles slightly after he pulls away, and he brushes your red cheek with his knuckle as he turns to descend the stairs. “Good night, (f/n).”

And you, shell-shocked and a mile high all at once, barely manage to open your door before laughing giddily until tears streak your face .

Tony Stark, a reformed playboy now on the straight and narrow, kissed you goodnight. The rich, beautiful man that respects you and admires you just kissed you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, my friends! Hope you liked it. Here's a link for the Operation Christmas Child branch of Samaritan's Purse. Yes, it's a very real thing with a very real impact. My mom and I packed 100 boxes last year and are working on almost two hundred this year. https://www.samaritanspurse.org/what-we-do/operation-christmas-child/  
> I hope you pack a bunch of boxes, and it's fine if you can't send them off for this year; next year is just fine. :)
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments; I love getting (pardon the pun) input from my readers. <3


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